


When I'm Bad...

by lightofdaye



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bondage, Cowgirl Position, Dom/sub, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Femdom, Nipple Play, Sex Club, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-29
Updated: 2014-03-29
Packaged: 2018-01-17 10:38:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1384486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lightofdaye/pseuds/lightofdaye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry tries but he's just no good at being a submissive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When I'm Bad...

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nearlyconscious](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nearlyconscious/gifts).



> Written for Nearlyconscious during Humpfest 2013 on livejournal.

The man lying in her bed was doing an impressive job of remaining composed, thought Pansy Parkinson, considering how firmly he was attached to it. A couple of the club's less in-demand girls had seen to that: taking him down here, stripping him, and binding him. Each wrist was spread as far from the other as possible and tied to the headboard, the silk rope looping down to his shoulders. That had been about thirty minutes ago, and the novelty of merely lying restrained on the soft, comfortable bed had surely worn off by now.  
  
But Pansy had never been able to resist keeping people waiting.  
  
He could wait a little longer, though, Pansy thought as she looked over him. He was on the top end of middling height or maybe the bottom end of being tall. He was thin and fit, and muscle — if not bulging — was at least present under his pale skin. He'd opted to wear the mask, a glittering silver and black affair that covered his eyes and, in a nice touch, most of his forehead as well. The mask meant she should at least pretend not to know the man under it, but really, the eyes behind the mask gave the whole game away.  
  
The man’s emerald gaze transfixed her.  
  
Pansy actually felt a jolt when their eyes met and suppressed it. That was not why people came to her. They came to her because she was cool, emotionless, in  _control_  .  
  
She continued looking. Aside from the mask the only thing he was wearing was black leather trousers,  _tight_  black leather trousers that clung to the muscles on his calves and thighs and to his crotch as well.   
  
She wasn’t wearing much more herself. Just the high-heeled, knee-high boots, the gloves, the corset, and a flimsy pair of knickers. All black, of course. It was about the look of the thing, after all. What people expected.  
  
Slowly she sauntered over to the bed.  
  
“Well, well, what do we have here?” she mused.  
  
“Someone who’s been waiting for quite a while now,” he said.  
  
“You’re lucky I turned up at all.”  
  
"It's not like you could leave a paying customer just lying here."  
  
Pansy shrugged.  
  
“Watch me,” she said and turned to leave. She put an extra sway to her hips as she did it, just to let him see what he was giving up.  
  
It was a good thing her back was turned because she didn’t want to betray how nervous she really was. If she left that room she would have won, in a way, but she’d also have admitted her complete lack of control over him.  
  
She got halfway to the door before he spoke.  
  
“I’m sorry.”—she half turned back, eyebrow raised— “I’m sorry, Mistress. I misspoke. I am still new to this.”  
  
She frowned as she approached the bed for the second time. If nothing else, this encounter was giving her some exercise.  
  
“Inexperience is no excuse with me, slave. You did not ask for training.”  
  
“I know mistress, I am sorry,” he apologised again, but his voice did not seem contrite in the slightest. She was going to have to change that.  
  
Agilely she sprang onto the bed to straddle him, her soft knickers pressing against the taut leather over his dick. At least it felt like she might have something to work with here.  
  
“You know you have to be punished, though.”  
  
“If-if you say so, Mistress.” There was a slight hitch in his voice as he said it. Fear? Anticipation? Pansy had had customers who genuinely wanted to obey her and others who had been there just to get into trouble. Which was he? Did he even know himself?  
  
With him spread out beneath her, there was an obvious target for her attention. She rubbed her fingers across his hard chest, noting scorch marks marring one shoulder and a shiny oval-shaped scar forming a hole in his blazon of dark chest hair.  
  
“I do say so,” she said and caught his right nipple between her left thumb and forefinger and tugged at it, trying to lift him into the air with nothing but it as leverage. His hips pitched wildly in response, and a cry escaped his lips.  
  
“Stay still,” Pansy ordered and twisted her grip. Another cry, but the jerk of his body was considerably less. He was at least trying to obey.  
  
Not that it would stay her hand, of course. She continued to squeeze and toy with his nipple and traced the nails of her first two fingers around the areola of the other one. The contrast would only heighten the tension in the nipple she was toying with.  
  
He squirmed under her attentions, and that pressed the bulging leather against her crotch. She let more of her weight rest on it, feeling the growing hardness of his arousal grind against her. It was more distracting than it should have been for her.  
  
She released her grip and glared down at him.  
  
“You’re not enjoying this, are you, slave?” —he shook his head, but his glittering eyes made her doubt it—“Because this is a supposed to be a punishment” —she ground down on his hard-on— “and you’re definitely enjoying it too much.”  
  
She leant down as if to kiss him. His eyes widened in surprise but she veered off at the last second to talk to his earlobe.  
  
“I’m just going to have to try harder,” she said and bit down on the lobe. “Face down, arse up, slave.”  
  
It was a shame to undo the ropes, she thought, but needs must, so she muttered the incantation to make them disappear. The man obeyed her orders with alacrity, and she found herself admiring a leather clad backside. She had to admit the man filled out both sides of the trousers very well.  
  
She spanked him. There were many tools about the place she could have used instead, but she couldn’t resist using her hand. There was something delightful about hearing the sound it made when it impacted the leather and feeling him writhe under the touch.  
  
Groans fell freely from the man’s mouth as she slapped him. He was no longer even maintaining a pretence of not liking what she was doing. His body moved along with her. Down after every stroke, grinding into the silk covers, and then up again to excitedly meet her next blow. Pansy could not help but marvel at his excitement and wonder if this was making him harder still. She pictured the way his shaft was straining against his trousers now.  
  
They were both breathing hard by the time she flipped him back over, though she tried not to show it.  
  
“Now I get my reward for my patience with you,” she growled. It was probably unprofessional to be doing this so quickly, she thought, but she was past caring as she tore at his waistband, pushing down the leather so his cock jumped free, long and hard and glistening with pre-cum over the head.  
  
“Try not to come,” she ordered as she pushed her knickers aside.  _And I’ll make you anyway._  
  
She pushed down onto him, balancing with her hands on his chest. Her grip tightened, and her nails dug in, causing him to howl as she rode him for all she was worth.  
  
Afterwards, they both lay on the silk catching their breath, Pansy stroking the man’s dark locks rewardingly.  
  
“Well, did you get you wanted? We do aim to please, after all.”  
  
The man didn’t answer. He wasn’t obligated to now they were done. He left quickly.  
  
Pansy sighed and rested her head on her cushions. She never could figure out why the man came to her.  
  
And that was why she never quite got Harry Potter to submit to her.


End file.
